When Brothers Bleed
by fiendfall
Summary: Zachariah wants Dean to say yes to Michael, and Lucifer has a plan of his own to speed up the coming Apocalypse. But Team Free Will hasn't played its last card yet... Sam, Dean, Bobby and Castiel, with plenty of action, angst and whump, but no slash.
1. A Hurried Flight

**Title: **When Brothers Bleed

**Author****:** Westrina

**Summary: **Zachariah's determined that Dean will say yes to Michael, no matter what it takes. But Team Free Will hasn't played its last card yet… A Sam, Dean & Castiel adventure set sometime between 5x17 and 5x18.

**Rating:** T for violence, basically, and Dean's language. There will not be any slash.

**Pairings:** I personally ship Destiel but this fic sticks entirely to canon relationships.

**Genre:** Adventure/Friendship/Drama

**Spoilers:** Basically anything up to 5x18, but not beyond.

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural, and everything to do with it, is Kripke's. I'm sure we all know this but I have to put it in anyway just in case.

_This is my first Supernatural fic and I really hope you guys like it! I'm trying to focus on the voices of the individual characters so please drop me a review to tell me how I'm doing =]_

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><p><strong>When Brothers Bleed<strong>

'So it's definitely not a demon,' Sam said tiredly, closing his laptop with a click and leaning back in his chair, massaging his temples. 'And we know it's not a werewolf, because all the bodies had their hearts intact.'

Dean managed to tear himself away from 'Busty Asian Beauties' long enough to glance at his brother. 'So what the hell is it? A witch? Crazy man-eating clown? Zombie? Oh, God, please can it not be another damn shifter. Every time we run into those I end up getting arrested for something.'

Sam smirked, but refrained from commenting. 'Well, whatever it is, it's killing people pretty fast. That's two in the last three days, man. And we still don't know if the missing florist is a part of this yet.'

Dean chuckled, but Sam guessed it was more likely to be because of Dean's reading material than what he had just said. 'Dude. You're always reading that crap.'

Dean grinned. 'So speaks the lawyer. I'm telling you man – you went to Standford, I read porn. I bet we can guess who had the better time.'

Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's apparent light-heartedness. Even though Dean had been very… Well, not exactly forgiving about the whole Lucifer/Ruby/demon blood/starting the apocalypse thing… Well. Sam screwed up pretty bad. Really bad. And he couldn't help thinking, 'everything bad that happens now is because of me'. Everything. So when he saw his brother like this, bright and perky and so… carelessly happy. It felt right. It felt like maybe, just maybe, Sam had managed to screw the entire universe to hell – but not Dean. Maybe Dean would be okay. He was built to survive, he'd make it through all this.

Maybe.

Five seconds later there was an angel in their motel room.

'Dean. Sam.' Castiel's deep tones, usually so calm and professional, were spiked with the worry he was trying to hide. 'We need to leave _now_.'

Dean chucked his magazine over to one side of the bed, standing up quickly. 'What is it, Cas?'

'There is no time. I'll explain later. Get what you need and let's go.'

So what, he was just going to teleport them to God only knew where? Dean opened his mouth to speak but something in Castiel's face warned him that now was not a good time. 'Okay,' he said hesitantly. 'Fine. Can I go get some stuff from the Impala, or… ?'

Castiel walked over to the window and peered out surreptitiously. 'No. I'm sorry. They're already here. We have to move now.'

Lucky they were always prepared for an attack these days. Dean grabbed the longsuffering green duffel-bag he always kept topped up with demon-killing paraphernalia, tucking his gun into his jeans as Sam picked up his laptop and stuffed it into a beaten-up old rucksack.

'Okay, Cas. We're good to go.'

'Good.' Castiel raised his hands and touched both of the Winchester brothers on the forehead, and they were gone.

-/-

Dean hit the ground with a dull thud, jarring his elbows against the stone and bashing his chin painfully. For a moment the world seemed to slide lazily sideways before his eyes, but as he blinked it snapped back into focus with a blinding intensity.

He sat up too quickly and the world spun again, only to fix on his brother who was lying motionless on the ground a few feet away from him.

'Sam!' He scrambled over to him and shook his shoulders in an attempt to wake him up. 'Goddammit, wake up you bastard.'

Sam coughed and blinked slowly. 'Er, Dean. What're you doing?'

Dean cleared his throat self-consciously and straightened up. 'You okay?'

'Sure. You?' Dean nodded and Sam stood, brushing himself off and examining the dirty alley they now found themselves in. 'Where are we?'

'Beats me. Where's Cas?'

'He's not with you?'

Dean spread his hands in denial. 'Do I look like I've got a nerd angel hidden in my jacket to you?'

Sam snorted. 'Fair enough. Well, maybe he's just around the corner or something. Like when he zapped us back to see Mom and Dad.'

Dean winced internally at the memory of how beaten-up Cas was after that little excursion. He didn't pretend to be an expert or anything, but he knew enough about angels to know that they weren't supposed to go around coughing up blood and passing out. Not if, the first time you met one, you actually stabbed him in the heart with a demon-ganking knife and he didn't even blink.

'Look, man, he's not here,' Sam said when they'd been searching for over an hour and found squat. 'Why don't we just check into a motel or something and wait for him to get in touch?'

Dean didn't want to stop looking. If he was truly honest with himself, which at all costs he tried not to be, he wasn't sure what he would do if he _did _stop. Being thrown into an unknown city by a desperate angel who wasn't there to explain was not exactly top of his 'to do' list. If they didn't find Cas…

'Fine,' he growled, hating himself. 'Let's go find somewhere dry at least.'


	2. When you Manage to Lose an Angel

_A big thank you to everyone who read and reviewed!_

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><p>Pontiac, Illinois.<p>

_Pontiac_, Illinois.

Pontiac, _Illinois_.

No. No matter how he said it, it still sounded wrong. It sounded like clawing his way out of a coffin and finding the world had gone mad in his absence. It sounded like Sam lying to him and running off with a demon bitch. It sounded like Castiel when he first appeared, strong and mysterious and, hell, a real dick.

Why there? Why did it have to be there? Of all the places…

They had trudged through the rain in a morose silence – or rather, Dean had been morose, glaring out at a world that dare suggest he was worried, while Sam had looked increasingly alarmed at his brother's increasingly murderous expression.

'Dean, I'm sure he's fine,' he'd tried to say as they entered the lobby of a cheap motel.

Dean didn't have to ask who 'he' was. 'Shut up, Sammy.'

The motel was crappy but warm, and it had two half-decent beds, which was always a bonus. The moment he was dry, Dean pulled out his cell and dialled Cas – again. And it went through to voicemail – again. Sam had tried ringing Bobby, who had called them idjits for managing to lose an actual angel of the Lord but had also promised to keep an eye out for any holy tax accountants that happened to be passing by.

But they'd heard nothing.

'Dammit Cas,' Dean growled into his hands as he kneaded his face. 'Where the hell are you, you stupid son of a bitch?' He lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the mildly comforting sound of Sam tapping away on his laptop for any information that might help them find a missing angel. He wished him luck with that one.

Perhaps Dean was just overreacting. Cas was probably fine; he _was_ an angel after all. He'd most likely just zapped off somewhere once he'd dropped Sam and Dean off in Illinois and would be back any moment. He was a busy guy, Dean could hardly expect him to hang around playing nursemaid all the time.

Yeah, Castiel was probably just busy. Dean could stop worrying – it was all fine. He always was good at lying to himself.

Dean's phone rang suddenly, cutting into the silence, and he sat up abruptly, fumbling in his haste to pick it up.

'Cas?'

'No, Dean, I'm sorry. It's Chuck – Chuck Shurley?'

'Oh.' It was all he could to do keep the disappointment from his voice.

'I knew you were going to call me sooner or later so I thought we might as well just get this over with.'

'Oh,' Dean said again. He really wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say. 'Er. What am I going to ask you?' Then it hit him. 'Do you know where Cas is?'

Chuck swallowed nervously. 'Dean, I can't… Listen – don't go looking for Castiel, that'll just put you all in even more danger.'

'What? Where is he? Is he in trouble?'

'It's nothing he can't handle.' Chuck sounded uncomfortable. 'He'll get to you as soon as he can, probably sometime tomorrow morning, I think.'

'You _think_? Hell, Chuck, you're a damn prophet, I thought you were supposed to know all about this kind of crap.'

'I'm sorry Dean. I don't… Castiel will find you when he can. My visions, they're… I don't know any more than that, I'm sorry.'

'What, so that's it? You're just going to leave us in the dark to _wait_? Dammit, Chuck. You've got to give us more than that. What even happened back there? Did Cas just end up on the wrong side of Pontiac or what?'

Chuck sighed. 'Castiel never made it out of North Dakota.'

'What? Why? So how're _we_ here, then?'

'I don't know or understand all the details, and I'm not sure if I even want to, but Zachariah turned up just as you were leaving, and somehow managed to pull Castiel back to the motel room in Turtle Lake. I don't know if they're still there now.'

'Zachariah's got Cas?' Dean cursed. 'Dammit, Chuck, is there anything else I should know?'

Chuck's voice, when it came, was small and tired. 'No. I'm sorry, I don't have anything else to tell you. You'll just have to… wait it out, I guess. Castiel will be with you by morning, I think. Oh, and Dean? He's going to need some looking after.'

'He- Why? What's Zachariah doing to him?'

'I don't know, Dean, but Zachariah's pretty desperate to find you and Cas is the best lead he's got. I think we both know what that means. But Dean? Don't go after him. He'll be okay. And if you do try to help him, you'll just make everything worse.'

'Whatever, Chuck.' He hung up, throwing the phone down on the bed in frustration.

'So?'

He hadn't even noticed Sam looking at him until he spoke. Dean ran a hand over his face again, trying to formulate a plan. 'Zachariah's got Cas.'

'Damn.'

They sat in silence for a moment, allowing that piece of information to sink in fully, before Sam said: 'So. What do we do?'

It was an unspoken agreement between the brothers that Dean called the shots on this one. If it was any other case they'd work it out together, but Castiel was Dean's angel. It wasn't that Sam didn't like Castiel, or Castiel didn't like Sam, it was just… When you've been pulled from the very mouth of Hell by someone, and you've got their handprint burnt onto your shoulder, well. It changes things.

Sam was still waiting for Dean's answer. He felt sick just thinking about the decision he had to make – that there shouldn't even _be_ a decision here. Cas was in trouble. Dean should be running to his aid without question, no matter what a prophet of the Lord suggested. Hell, Cas had done the same for him so many times he'd lost count.

But. Castiel was two states away, and Dean didn't even have a car. And even if, by some miracle, he did manage to get there in time to be of any use whatsoever, he was still up against Zachariah and whatever henchmen he had brought with him this time. Castiel was an angel, he could cope. He could look after himself. Hell, he'd practically kicked Zachariah's ass not so long ago and forced him to give Sam back his lungs and take away Dean's stomach cancer. Castiel could look after himself. Whatever shit he was in, he could handle it.

Dean sat back down on the bed, trying with all his might to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. 'We do nothing, that's what.'


	3. Welcome Back, Mr Comatose

_Another big thank-you guys! There's nothing quite as good as knowing people are actually reading and liking your stuff to motivate you to write some more =]_

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><p>Castiel hadn't expected it to work. He knew the limitations of his own power only too well, knew how it was diminishing with every passing day he was cut off from Heaven. Taking Sam and Dean as far from North Dakota as he could was easy – although he doubted whether they could have gotten further than two states away – but sending them without him? While he was being dragged backwards through space by his big brother?<p>

No. He hadn't expected to succeed. So when he had materialised back in the motel in Turtle Lake, he had been relieved and surprised to find that neither of the Winchesters were there. It seemed that he had underestimated the amount of 'mojo' he had left.

'Castiel.' There was no mistaking Zachariah's slimy, fake tone. No one could pretend to be your friend as well as he could. He was standing almost casually, flanked by two other angels – Virgil and another Castiel hadn't met before, a woman. They both looked as hard and uncompromising as Castiel himself must have seemed when he first met Dean. It felt strange thinking back to that day. So much had changed since then.

'Zachariah,' Castiel replied with a slight nod of acknowledgement. 'I heard that you were looking for the Winchesters.'

Zachariah smiled condescendingly. 'You heard correct, little brother. Now. Where did you send them?'

Castiel palmed his sword, deliberately taking a step forwards so he was almost face to face with Zachariah. 'You will not find them,' he said slowly. 'I have made sure of that.'

'This will go far easier on you if you just tell me,' Zachariah said, almost lightly. 'Haven't you lost enough through protecting them? What have they ever done for you? We are your family, Castiel. It's time you remembered that.'

He looked up into his brother's face, and in that moment Castiel was ashamed of what he was.

'This never was a family,' he growled. 'Dean Winchester taught me that.' And he drew his sword in readiness for the fight that was to come.

-/-

Dean was not a patient man, never had been. He was a man of action, a man who gunned down his troubles before they got too close. So to sit on his thumb in a cramped motel room knowing that Cas was out there somewhere and he couldn't do jack… It had been four hours since they left North Dakota and materialized in Illinois, four long, interminable hours of absolutely squat.

When Dean finally fell asleep, he dreamed of the lake. He often came back to this old dream, the one in which Castiel had first decided to help Dean, and been dragged back to Heaven for his pains, the dream in which he had tried to warn Dean of what was to come.

It was an extremely peaceful dream. He leaned back into his chair, looking out over the lake, at the soft, honey-coloured sunlight reflected on the calm water, the muted autumn colours of orange and pink and yellow and brown smudging together in the dreamglow. Everywhere was silent, but not the oppressive, about-to-be-jumped-by-a-ghost silence. It was a comfortable, undemanding silence that spoke of a contentment and easiness that had never been a part of Dean Winchester's life.

Here, he didn't have to worry about Sam, or angels and demons, or the memories from Hell that threatened to rip him apart every single time he closed his eyes.

The only thing that was missing was his angel.

'Hello, Dean.'

-/-

Dean sat up abruptly, torn from a dream that he'd never meant to have, to find an angel in his motel room for the second time that day.

'Cas!'

The angel Castiel was standing in the middle of the floor, swaying slightly as if he were about to fall over. 'Dean. I am glad I have found you.' Then his knees buckled and Dean barely managed to catch him before he plummeted to the ground.

It took Dean five minutes and an awful lot of profanity to manhandle the unconscious angel onto his bed. When he had finally managed it, he flicked on the light and stood over Castiel, surveying the damage. It wasn't as bad as he might have expected.

Castiel looked pale even against the light sheets of the bed, and his skin had an unhealthy sheen to it that gave it a nasty, yellowish tone. His hair was even scruffier than usual, and there was a little dried blood crusting one side and trickling down onto his face. There was also blood on his collar – rather more, alarmingly – and on what little of the cuff of his left sleeve Dean could see beneath the trenchcoat.

It wasn't great. But it could have been far, far worse.

When it became obvious that Cas wasn't going to wake up anytime soon, Dean started to think about going back to sleep. Now his bed was out of action, there was only one crappy sofa left, and even if it didn't look all that appetising, it'd have to do. He'd slept on crappier sofas, after all.

He swept the empty drinks cans and guns off the sofa and was just settling down, pulling his jacket over him for warmth, when he heard his name.

'Dean.'

He was up and by Castiel's side again in a moment. 'Take it easy, Cas. You look awful, man.'

'You have to listen to me. Zachariah is looking for you. The Enochian I carved into your ribs will hold against angels, but you must be careful.'

'What's going on, Cas?'

'I am sorry…' His speech was becoming slurred, his eyes vacant and unfocused. 'I will explain later… _He wants you to say yes_…' He sank down into the pillow, consciousness leaving him, and Dean left the angel to sleep, returning to his sofa with trepidation.

Of course, it was the angels on their 'Heaven-sent mission' to set in motion something that would destroy half of the Earth. They wanted Lucifer to possess Sam and Michael to possess Dean, and then they would battle it out for supremacy. Over a little brotherly dispute.

Castiel's family really was a bunch of laughs. And he'd thought _his_ family had issues.

-/-

The next morning, Castiel was still asleep. He looked like he needed it, too, which was worrying seeing as angels didn't usually need to sleep. But then, as Cas himself had admitted, he was a poor example of an angel.

Like he always did with things that made him uncomfortable, Dean shoved that memory away, tucking it out of sight in a fold of his brain reserved for things he'd rather forget about.

Something about those words had angered Dean. Maybe it was the way Castiel had said them so resignedly, so acceptingly, like he wasn't even going to try to fight to stay who he was. Dean had seen future Cas, awash with drugs just to keep the pain and the sense of loss dulled. And he hadn't liked it. _Dean_ was the one who deadened his pain, drinking to keep it at bay. Maybe it was selfish, but Cas wasn't supposed to do that. He was the one who was meant to be there, strong, knowledgeable, unchanging. The role of sorrow-drowner was already taken.

Or maybe it was the very fact that Castiel thought he wasn't as good as his brothers, that somehow being a great big bag of dicks was better than standing up and fighting for what you believe in. The thought that Castiel believed he wasn't good enough struck a chord with Dean and he pushed it away. He spent his entire life questioning his own worth; he didn't need to spend any time meditating on Castiel's problems, thank you very much.

He and Sam had been keeping a low profile after what Castiel had said last night, but at lunchtime they had no food and Cas still didn't seem likely to be waking up any time soon, so Dean sent Sam on a mission to buy some pie while he sat around cleaning his guns and keeping an eye on Mr Comatose. It was unlikely that anything was going to happen today, and even if the angels did catch up with them – in spite of the Enochian sigils -, Dean knew only too well that clean guns wouldn't make any difference at all. But it was a force of habit, something that he could throw himself into and so not need to think about anything else.

Because his thoughts had become altogether too touchy-feely lately, and he could do without all that right now.


	4. You Don't Know my Brothers

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed!_

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><p>Sam wasn't sure what to make of Castiel's news.<p>

His first reaction was to get Dean as far away from Zachariah and his henchmen as possible, because he never knew quite what crazy plans were going through his brother's head and he didn't want to wake up one day to find that Dean was no longer Dean but an archangel.

It was a relief to get out of the stuffy little motel room, even though Dean had warned him it was a danger. What, so he couldn't even go down to the shop to buy food any more? With all due respect to Castiel, it did feel a little paranoid. They hadn't been this careful even when they were wanted for bank robbery and multiple counts of murder two years ago.

His second reaction to Castiel's news was to ignore it. Zachariah had been chasing them since before the apocalypse even began; he'd let up a little recently but now he was back, so what? They'd always treated him just like any other average monster out for their guts. There was no reason to panic just because he was no longer letting them alone. It wasn't in either Sam or his brother's nature to run away from something.

He grabbed a few items – careful not to forget Dean's pie, or his life wouldn't be worth living – and started to pay when his phone rang.

He scrambled to find it in the pocket of his jeans. 'Hello?'

'Sam ya idjit, I've been calling for half an hour straight.'

'Hello to you too, Bobby. What's up?'

'What's up? A helluva lot, that's what. Have you any idea what's going on around your ears right now?'

Sam finished paying quickly, wanting to get back to the motel as quickly as possible. 'What is this all about, Bobby?'

The older man huffed on the other end of the line. 'If you'd done your research, boy, you'd know. There's signs of demon activity all around Pontiac, right where that brother of yours popped up. Something's going down, and I have a feeling it ain't gonna be pretty. You should get your asses away from there fast, before something big bad and nasty turns up. Like Lucifer.'

Sam swallowed. 'You think Lucifer is coming _here_?'

'I don't know, boy. But I wouldn't take any chances. See if you can get that angel o' yours to zap you over to my place, and we can have a counsel of war, come up with a some kind of a plan.'

'Er, Bobby… I don't think Cas is up to zapping anyone anywhere right now, and the Impala's still in North Dakota.'

'Balls. Fine, whatever. Just get here as quick as you can. Whatever's going on around there, it's big. I think Castiel managed to fly you two boys out of the frying pan and into the fire. Just… be careful.'

'We will, Bobby. You too.'

'Yeah, whatever.'

Sam smiled as he hung up. It was always good to hear Bobby's voice, especially at times like now, when they needed a hand most. He made his way back to the motel room, dumping the shopping bag on the table as he entered. Dean immediately dived in, an expression of childish delight on his face that was reserved for one thing – pie.

'He still asleep?' Sam motioned to Castiel's prone form.

'Out for the count,' confirmed Dean through a mouthful of pastry. 'Dude, this pie is awesome.'

'Yeah. Great. Hey, look, Bobby called me. Said there's some kind of a demon gathering around here.'

'What?'

'I know.'

Dean swore. 'And we're slap bang in the middle of it, as usual, I suppose.'

'Yeah. It would look that way.'

'Well that's just peachy. But I suppose it was too much to ask to be left alone while Mr Comatose over there wakes himself up. At least we've got the knife. We can take 'em.'

'Actually, no we can't. Bobby says he thinks Lucifer might be coming.'

Dean leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable. 'Please tell me you're joking.'

Sam shook his head.

'Crap.'

'Bobby says we should get over to his place, work out what's going on. I mean, Lucifer coming right to the spot where you broke out of Hell? That's got to be more than a coincidence, right?'

Dean shook his head. 'I don't get it. Why would Cas fly us right into a danger zone?'

'No idea, man. We've just got to get out of it, that's all. And fast - before anything satanic turns up.'

Half an hour later, Castiel woke up.

-/-

'Dean?'

He coughed. There was blood.

'Cas, you look terrible.'

Castiel shivered, an expression of confusion and pain on his face. 'We need to get out of here.'

'No shit, Sherlock.'

'Hey, Cas, do you think you can get us to Bobby's?'

Castiel grimaced. 'No.'

'Why not?'

The angel frowned. 'I… Something's wrong. I can't…'

When he didn't elaborate, Sam turned to Dean. 'We'll just have to get a car, then.'

Dean didn't like this. He didn't like the way Castiel looked, because it was obvious that the angel was in quite a bit of pain, and angels weren't supposed to feel pain. But then, recently, Castiel had been more human than angel.

And that reminded him of a future that he didn't want.

'Cas,' he said, making his way over to the angel. 'We're going to Bobby's. It'll be safe there. Sam's going to get us a car-' Sam nodded and left the room, '-and then we'll drive to South Dakota. But I'm going to need you to tell us what the hell is going on. Because something's happening here, something big, and I need your help.'

Castiel looked up at him with big, blue, trusting eyes. 'Of course, Dean.'

As always, Dean felt slightly uncomfortable under that gaze and he turned away, busying himself with packing the few things they'd managed to take with them from the last motel room they'd vacated in a hurry and trying not to think about anything other than the job at hand. Because thinking about Michael being after him, and Cas turning into Future Cas, and Lucifer appearing to possess his little brother… If he thought about any of that, it might just overwhelm him, and then where would they be?

-/-

'Turn off at the next junction.'

They'd been driving for nearly half an hour now in the old blue car Sam had managed to hotwire. It was small and plasticy and felt like it was about to break whenever Dean changed gear. Sam was sitting in the passenger seat wrestling with an enormous map and trying to give Dean directions, which mainly consisted of them arguing, each of them insisting they were right, Dean going the way he thought was correct and then, half a minute later, realising that Sam had been right all along.

Castiel was sitting in the backseat looking increasingly fragile and wincing at every bump in the road. He looked so confused and miserable that Dean couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

'You hanging in back there, Cas?'

Castiel seemed to ponder this for a moment. 'I… I am fine.'

Dean turned his attention back to the road, unconvinced. Considering that the angel had learnt the use of the expression from the Winchesters, and taking in the unhealthy colour of his skin, Dean doubted very much whether Castiel was 'fine'.

Twenty minutes later, when it seemed like Sam wouldn't have to give any more directions for a while, Dean turned back to Castiel, saying: 'I know this isn't a good time, but we really need to know what's going on around here.'

'Give him a break, man,' Sam said quietly. 'He looks awful.'

Dean grimaced. He wanted nothing more than just to let the angel in the back rest, get his strength back, but it was unlikely that whatever was eating their asses was about to give them a moment's peace. 'I'm sorry, Cas. But we really need to know.'

'I understand.' His voice was even rougher than usual, shot through with strain and stubbornness. 'Zachariah-'

'Is out for my guts. Yeah. I got that memo.'

Sam gave his brother a glare. 'What he means is, why is it suddenly such a big problem now?'

'Before now, Michael has been… regulating Zachariah's behaviour.'

'What, so he's been playing Mr Nice Guy? Hell. I don't think I'd want to meet him when he's in a bad mood.'

'No one likes it when Zachariah is in a bad mood,' Castiel admitted.

'Hang on - I thought Michael _wanted_ the apocalypse?' Sam said, confused.

'He does. Michael is the greatest among angels. He is loyal to our family, obeys our father, tempers passion and strength with mercy and intelligence. He is proud but not self-righteous.' Castiel swallowed, for a moment shame taking the place of pain as forefront in his mind. Everything his brother was, everything he had always aspired to - none of these traits applied to him. Not anymore.

'Cas? Hey! Cas! You alright?'

The angel blinked. There was no time for this now. 'Michael is growing desperate. Raphael and his followers are pressuring him to finish the apocalypse.' A small, sad smile. 'My brothers are not known for their patience.'

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

'So… Do you know anything about the demons gathering around where Dean came up from Hell?'

'No. That was a coincidence. If I had known the danger, I would never have risked sending you there. But… This is bad news. If Lucifer is preparing for something, this will force my brothers' hands – they will have no choice but to find you, Dean, and force you to accept Michael.'

'The hell they will. I'm ready for them. Let those sons of bitches come.'

Castiel shook his head. 'You don't know my brothers.'


	5. The Righteous Man

_Thank you all for reading and reviewing! It means an awful lot to me =]_

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><p>It grew dark and still Dean drove, listening to the slow, deep, peaceful breathing of one demon-blooded brother and one falling angel and trying not to consider the possibility of a future where one was the Devil and the other was stoned and he didn't give a rat's ass about either of them.<p>

It wouldn't happen. He wouldn't let it happen.

They reached Sioux Falls nine and a half hours later. Dean could've done it in less if he hadn't been so damn tired. At 11:47pm he pulled into Singer Salvage Yard and killed the engine.

'Hey.' He spoke loudly in an attempt to wake his brother up. When it had a minimal effect (Sam just swore and shifted his position), Dean chucked a jacket in his face. 'Rise and shine, Sammy boy. We've arrived.'

That should do the trick. He got out of the car and stretched, feeling his muscles complaining after the long drive. On the other side, Sam unfolded himself from the passenger seat, bleary-eyed and yawning.

The front door of the house opened, letting out a stream of welcoming, golden light, and Bobby appeared silhouetted against it in the doorway.

'You idjits going to stand around all night?'

Dean chuckled tiredly. 'It's good to see you too, Bobby. Sam, you go on in and get some sleep, man. I'll get Cas inside.'

He woke the angel with an awkward shake of his shoulder and helped him to climb out of the car, something Castiel had never needed to do before. Eventually they reached the house and found Bobby and Sam in the library, Bobby behind the desk, unnaturally low in his wheelchair, Sam sitting on the other side of the desk, looking slightly more awake than a moment ago. Immediately, Dean took the other chair while Castiel practically fell onto the bed by the window.

'It's good to see you boys alive and kicking, I can tell you,' Bobby said seriously. 'Although Dean, you look like hell.'

'I'm fine,' Dean replied automatically. 'So what's the deal with Lucifer?'

Bobby sighed, shifting papers off an ancient book and dusting it down carefully. 'I had a hell of a time finding this, I can tell you, so I sure hope you boys are grateful.'

'We are, Bobby, thank you,' said Sam earnestly. Dean snorted, but made no comment.

'Well I'm glad at least one of you appreciates my hard work,' grumbled Bobby good-naturedly. 'Well, here it is. It's old, real old, which is why I had such a hard job finding it. It's got to be one of the only written accounts of the apocalypse which tells it like the angels do. I'm not saying it gets everything right, 'cause it doesn't, but some of it is pretty accurate. A few – rare – sources say that, when Michael and Lucifer come to battle it out over the earth, they each will take their true vessel, but what this one says that I haven't seen anywhere else is that Michael's true vessel will be the Righteous Man.'

'Yes. That is Dean,' Castiel explained quietly. 'The Righteous Man who begins the apocalypse is the only one who can end it.'

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably at this reminder of his first few meetings with Castiel, when none of this was a problem, feeling the angel's too-blue eyes on him. 'We know this already from Cas, Bobby,' he said gruffly.

'Well hold your horses. 'Cause this book also says that the Righteous Man will be raised from perdition, and I sure as hell haven't heard _that_ anywhere else other than from the God Patrol.'

'What else does it say, Bobby?' asked Sam, leaning forwards to have a look.

Bobby seemed awkward. 'It might not be anything but…'

'What is it?'

'The book speaks of some kind of a spell, an incantation, a ritual, which can send the Righteous Man back to Hell.'

'What?'

'Keep your pants on,' warned Bobby. 'It's probably nothing. This book gets more wrong than it does right, and this could well be one of those wrong things. I just think it's worth looking into, that's all.'

'I have heard rumours of such a ritual,' Castiel said.

'So it's true, then?'

'I am not sure. But it is not beyond the realm of possibility.'

There was a long silence.

'Well. That's just peachy,' Dean said finally with an attempt at light-heartedness.

'Ain't that the truth,' muttered Bobby under his breath. 'I suppose we'll just have to lay low for a bit, wait for it all to blow over. In the meantime, you boys should get some rest.'

'Yeah, okay, Bobby,' smiled Sam.

'What, so that's it? Lucifer is finding a way to drag my ass back to Hell and you want me to get some _rest_?'

'It's a start, Dean.'

'Unbelievable.' He stood up and turned away, walking into the kitchen and checking the guns he'd dumped on the table.

'You're no use to anyone if you're a zombie,' Bobby pointed out.

'It's not like anything's happening now, man. Get some sleep.'

Castiel appeared at his shoulder. 'I can keep the nightmares away, Dean,' he said in a low voice.

Dean ran a hand over his face as though it would somehow help. 'Fine,' he said loudly. Castiel had better know what he was doing.

-/-

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the cracked white paint on the ceiling, wondering idly what time it was. Did it really matter? Would it be so very bad if he just lay here for ever? Or until he was dragged back to Hell, anyway.

He had never felt so rested, and he had never been closer to giving up.

He swallowed and his throat was dry, and so giving up was postponed while he went to get a beer.

He passed Sam's bedroom on the way and stood on the threshold for a moment, watching his little brother sleep. His little demon brother who caused the apocalypse and was the one true vessel of Lucifer. His little brother who wanted to be a lawyer, who always believed in goodness no matter how much bad he saw, who he had carried from a burning house as a child.

Sam deserved better than this.

No. Giving up simply wasn't an option. It never really had been.

Downstairs, Bobby was asleep on his desk, an empty bottle of whisky beside him, his desk strewn with papers. Dean padded into the kitchen and crossed to the fridge, fumbling inside for a beer. Then he turned around and nearly had a heart-attack.

'Dammit, Cas,' he growled. His voice had a croaky, half-asleep quality to it that he hadn't heard in a while. It spoke of a deep, undisturbed sleep, something that Dean wasn't particularly familiar with anymore.

Castiel was sitting hunched up at the kitchen table, idly rocking a small cylindrical bottle back and forth between his hands.

'Cas?'

The angel looked up slowly. 'Dean.'

'What're you…?' He saw the label on the bottle, realised what it was. 'Are those _painkillers_?'

Castiel looked back at them. 'I believe that is their purpose, although I do not feel a great deal of change.'

Dean suddenly had an image of a human Castiel, popping drugs, doing yoga and having orgies, and being sacrificed by a friend who couldn't care less. It hurt. Was this the moment when all that began? Lucifer had said that all roads led to that one scene, but surely… Surely he had changed that?

He grabbed the bottle, feeling its lightness, and chucked it in the bin. 'Jesus, Cas, how many did you have?'

Castiel frowned at the blasphemy. 'All of them.'

Dean bit off his next abuse as the reality of the situation sank in. 'Castiel,' he said slowly. 'How badly are you hurt?'

The angel looked genuinely distressed, an expression that Dean wasn't used to seeing on his friend's face. It seemed oddly out of place.

'I don't know. I usually heal so fast…'

Dean sighed. 'Come on then. We'd better get you patched up.' He found the first-aid kit and led Castiel back into the library, sitting him down on the bed before ordering him to remove the trenchcoat, tie and shirt. Castiel obeyed mutely, used to taking orders.

It wasn't pretty.

As well as the cut on Castiel's forehead, his arms and chest bore numerous scratches and cuts, including a particularly nasty one down his left arm, which accounted for the blood on his sleeve. His ribs were bruised, possibly even broken – they were definitely at least fractured – and there was a stab wound in his lower abdomen. Thankfully it wasn't too deep, or Cas would most likely be dead already.

Dean swore under his breath. 'Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?'

'It did not seem important.'

'Dammit, Cas! Of course it's important! You could've bled to death!'

'I assumed that I would heal satisfactorily,' Castiel stated simply. Then, hesitantly, 'How bad is it?'

If a normal human had sustained half the beating it seemed Castiel had taken, Dean was certain they would be dead. As it was, the angel was in a bad way, but it seemed that he was tougher than Dean had thought. The wounds were certainly attempting to knit themselves back together, although it would seem without much success.

'You'll live,' he said finally. 'But no more painkillers. From now on, something happens, you tell me, and we get you fixed up, okay?'

Castiel looked up at Dean with an unreadable expression. 'Very well.'


	6. A Plan of Action

_As ever, thank you all so much for all your kind words!_

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><p>Sam appeared downstairs half an hour later, looking ruffled and sleepy and about as refreshed as could be expected after you learn your brother might be going back to Hell.<p>

'Oh, you're already u- What's wrong with Cas?'

Dean was just putting the finishing touches to a bandage around the angel's ribs. It'd taken a while, but Castiel would live. He'd worked mostly in silence, as it seemed to be Castiel's preferred method, and Dean had found it slightly strange to be mending someone who wasn't Sam. He was so used to fixing the numerous cuts and bruises that he and Sam amassed so often that to be patching up someone else's body – and an angel's come to that - felt more than a little uncomfortable. And when you added to that the fact that Castiel didn't seem to understand the concept of personal space and insisted on staring at Dean for most of the time…

Now, Dean looked up to see the same worry on Sam's face that he'd heard in his brother's voice. 'Zachariah happened,' he said.

'Zachariah was _here_?'

'No, of course not, dumbass. This happened in Turtle Lake, after we were zapped into Illinois.'

'And Cas, you didn't say anything?'

'He expected he'd be able to heal himself like usual. I've already been through all this with him – from now on, if he manages to get himself hurt, he tells us. Right, Cas?'

'Yes.'

At that moment, Bobby wheeled his way into the room from the back door, a pile of books on his knees.

'I'm glad you boys are up and about,' he said, dumping the books on the desk. ''Cause I think I've found something.'

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

'Bobby, why did you say you thought Lucifer was coming to Illinois?' Sam asked, drawing a chair up to the desk.

'That was where I pulled Dean from Hell,' Castiel explained, standing up and fingering one of Bobby's books, flipping it open and scanning the page, a look of mild interest and concentration on his face. 'It is a place of great power.' He looked up at Dean. 'If Lucifer is trying to return you to Hell, that is where he will attempt it.'

'Basically, what he said.' Bobby grimaced. 'It doesn't take a genius to work out that if you're going to pop someone back in the box, the place where they bust out is a pretty good place to start.' He paused. 'Look, I don't want you boys worrying unnecessarily, but I think we should probably go about angel-proofing the house.'

'Why?' asked Sam, frowning.

Bobby sighed. 'It's in this book.' He patted the cover of a particularly moth-eaten tome. 'It's full of ancient demon exorcisms and rituals. But it also tells you how to send the soul of a living human to Hell. According to this, you need a whole host of items, including the usual 'bone of saint', and, of course, the blood of the person you want to send to Hell.'

'Makes sense, I guess,' Sam agreed.

'Great. This means it's possible, then,' muttered Dean.

'The book might be wrong, of course,' Bobby said. 'But are you willing to take that risk?'

Dean could hear the sense in Bobby's words - just because he didn't want something to be true, it didn't mean that it wasn't, and if there really was a way for Lucifer to send him back to Hell, then he didn't want to take any chances over it.

'Cas, can you handle the angel-proofing?' Sam asked.

'I can, but in that case I shall have to leave you.'

'What?' Dean frowned. 'Why?'

'At full power I might have been able to withstand the pain of being compressed in such a small space,' Castiel said. 'But as it is… I would be unlikely to survive.'

There was a pause, broken only by the customary muttered 'Balls!' from Bobby.

'Well okay then. No can do anti-angel signs. And we can't set up angel-banishing sigils because then we're back to the same problem.'

'I guess we just have to go for holy oil then,' said Sam, shrugging.

'And devil's traps, in case Lucifer tries to send any demons after us,' chipped in Bobby.

'I'll make some more salt-bullets, then,' Dean sighed. 'We're almost out.'

'I've got a stack in the panic room,' Bobby said.

'Well we don't want to eat into them,' said Sam. 'I mean, just in case. If the worst comes to the worst and we have to hole up for a while in there.'

Dean nodded. Hell, he didn't like it, but when did he ever like anything these days? Sam was right. And he was, yet again, putting those closest to him in danger.

'Cas, why don't you come and give me a hand if you're not going to put up any Enochian stuff,' Dean suggested, and Castiel nodded, following him out the door and into the yard. They collected salt and the shells of bullets from the back of the Impala before returning inside and setting up camp around the kitchen table. Castiel was clumsy and slow at first but it didn't take long for Dean to show him how to stuff the little shells with salt and close them tight, and it wasn't long before the angel was actually okay-ish at it. Hell, Dean couldn't be too harsh on him - it was easy to forget that Dean had been doing this since he was five years old.

'You're doing well,' he said when they'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes. Castiel had made four bullets; Dean had made nearly fifteen.

Castiel made no reply, concentrating hard on his work, a small frown on his face. Dean was in danger, and it was his job to protect him. Even when Castiel had been a soldier, he had been assigned to protecting Dean - although not in the way in which Dean had originally imagined. Now, his mission had changed from simply informing Dean of what news Michael wanted Dean to know while keeping him in the dark on other subjects. Now, Castiel needed to turn even further against the collection of angels he knew as 'family' in order to help the Human who had taught him the meaning of 'free will'.

'Dean,' said Castiel slowly, without looking up from what he was doing. 'I may be able to stop Lucifer.'

-/-

'So what's this plan of yours?' Bobby said. Dean was leaning casually up against one of the many bookcases in Bobby's library while Sam sat on the bed and Castiel stood in the centre of the floor, looking at them all. The mood in the room was tense – Castiel had insisted on everyone being together when he told them his plan, and Dean suspected it was because Castiel had predicted that some of them wouldn't like it.

'Well?'

'I'm not saying it will work. But it is the best plan I have. You, especially,' he turned to Dean, 'will not like it, and I can't blame you. What have seen of my family so far is…' he searched for the right word, finally alighting on one: 'unfortunate. But what you must remember is that not all of my siblings are like Zachariah.'

Dean thought of Anna, and then roughly pushed her away. She'd betrayed him, tried to kill his parents - that was something he wouldn't forgive. No one went against his family and lived, and they certainly didn't get his forgiveness afterwards. No matter what she had been to him - what she had meant - before. She was nothing to him now. She couldn't mean anything to him anymore. Not after what she did. But it still hurt to think of her.

'What's your plan?' he asked tersely.

'There is one of my siblings who may be willing to help us.'

'He _may_ be willing?' Bobby asked sceptically. 'Well, that sure is comforting.'

'Yeah – I mean, isn't that a huge risk, Cas?' said Sam.

'I believe he _will_ help us.'

'And why would he do that?'

Castiel sighed. 'He is my brother.'

'Yeah, Cas, I know,' said Dean. 'But so is Zachariah, and I don't exactly see _him_ in our fan club.'

'The angel's name is Hanael. We were… companions, for a time. I believe he will honor that.'

There was a pause as everyone digested this.

'Okay,' Dean said, breaking the silence, 'let's just assume for one moment that this angel dude-'

'Hanael.'

'Right. Hanael. Let's just say that this Hanael guy might actually actually help us - which, by the way, I think is about as likely as God turning up to give us a hand.'

Castiel grimaced - his father's lack of interest in the world's affairs still raw in his mind.

'But let's just assume that he _is_ willing to help us,' continued Dean. 'What are you saying we do?'

'I suggest we summon him here. He has risen quickly through the celestial chain of command. If there is a way for Lucifer to send you back to Hell, he will know of its existence.'

'And what if he doesn't help? What if something goes wrong?' asked Sam.

Something flickered over Castiel's face, but it was gone in the same instant. 'Then I will kill him. But I believe it will not come to that.' He looked to Dean, an almost pleading look in his eyes. 'Please trust me, Dean. I know Hanael, he can help us. This may be the only chance we have to be prepared for whatever Lucifer is planning.'

Dean looked around at the others, and wasn't surprised to find them all looking back at him. This was his decision. His call to make. His soul on the line. Wasn't everything down to him these days? Looking after Sam, breaking the first seal, getting dragged back up, stopping Lilith, stopping _Sam_, stopping the apocalypse… And now protecting his soul from Lucifer.

It was a risk. Hell, a huge risk - trusting some angel, when every other angel they'd met so far had just ended up trying to kill them. Bar one, of course. But being prepared for whatever Lucifer had coming... It was certainly preferable to fumbling around in the dark and tripping over dead bodies. Maybe it was a risk they'd just have to take. And anyway, Dean never had been a cautious man.

'Well okay then,' he said. 'Sounds like we have a plan. How're we gonna summon this son of a bitch?'


	7. The Celestial Brother

_Thank you all for reading and reviewing! Sorry this chapter was a while in coming - I drafted the scene about a million times before I got it right =]_

* * *

><p>'How do you know all this stuff, anyway?' Sam asked as he watched Castiel draw out some Enochian sigils in chalk on the floor with deft, practiced movements.<p>

'Every angel learns what is necessary from a young age,' Castiel explained without looking up.

Sam shrugged and continued crushing the 'bone of saint' with the mortar. 'So why don't you know about the sending souls to Hell ritual?'

'A good general does not tell his foot-soldiers everything he knows,' Castiel said, somewhat cryptically. 'While I was not the lowest on the celestial chain of command, I certainly was never the highest. There are many things which were… kept from me. This is one of them.'

'Right.' Sam put down the bowl on the desk, surveying the objects they'd gathered – lamb's blood; several small bones; a rabbit's foot (he tried not to think about what a headache the last rabbit's foot he'd come across had been); a bowl of a red powder that he wasn't familiar with, possibly ocher, or maybe even dried blood; some black sticks of wood that looked a little like cinnamon; another bowl filled with another thing he didn't recognize…

'Where did you get all this stuff?' he wondered aloud.

'Your friend Bobby has quite an exhaustive collection,' supplied Castiel. He stood and surveyed the chalky sigils he had drawn. They weren't his best handiwork, it had to be said, but given the limited time and imperfect materials, he decided that was forgivable.

'We are ready,' he said, turning to Sam.

'Oh, great. Um. Aren't we going to, er, set up a circle of holy oil?'

Castiel fixed Sam with his piercing blue gaze. 'You do not think this will work.' It was a statement, not a question.

'No offense, but we don't exactly have a great track record when it comes to meeting relatives of yours.'

Castiel sighed. 'I suppose you are right. Very well. You may lay down a circle of holy oil, but on the condition that we only trap Hanael as a last resort.'

Sam nodded. 'Okay. Seems fair.'

'Good. I will go and get the others.' Castiel left the room and Sam began pouring a trail of holy oil to encircle the place where it was probably likely that Hanael would materialize – the center of the floor, where Castiel had been drawing his sigils. It took longer than usual because he had to be careful not to smudge the chalky lines; if he did that, the whole plan was ruined.

There. He stood back, surveying the room. Definitely angel-proof. It wasn't that he didn't trust Castiel's judgment, exactly, although Castiel _had_ been wrong before – like when he trusted Uriel, for example. And anyone with eyes in their head could tell that Castiel had Dean's best interests at heart, but… Well… It was just that, after all this time, Sam couldn't bring himself to trust anyone to look out for Dean as well as he, Sam, would. They were brothers, looking out for each other was what they did, what they'd always done, and while others could help, they couldn't… They weren't him.

And he wasn't taking any chances. Not this time. Not when he'd gone four months as the only Winchester left alive. Four months without Dean. There was no way he was going to go through that again. Not if he could help it.

He just hoped Castiel knew what he was doing.

A moment later, Dean, Bobby and Castiel appeared in the doorway, looking tense and serious.

'You boys ready, then?' Bobby asked, wheeling himself over to the desk.

'As we'll ever be, I guess,' replied Sam. 'You set up all the devil's traps?'

'All over the place. There's no demons coming in here to bother us, that's for sure,' said Dean with an attempt at cockiness.

'Good,' said Castiel. He pushed past Dean to stand at the desk, picking up the bowl of crushed saint-bone. 'Then I shall begin.' He began to chant in a strange language – presumably Enochian – and poured the mixtures together in a complicated order, sometimes mixing them with each other, sometimes simply piling them on top of one another, chanting all the while. Finally, he struck a match and lit the whole heap, which set off a small explosion, complete with sparks and a little puff of smoke.

Castiel finished the incantation and turned back to the center of the room. 'He will have heard that.'

They waited for a moment, but nothing seemed to have changed.

'Er, Cas?' said Sam cautiously. 'You sure you did the spell right?'

'Yes,' replied Castiel with certainty. 'He is coming.'

He had barely finished speaking when a sudden rush of air blew up, sending all of Bobby's papers flying around like leaves. And then there was another angel in the room.

The first thing that Sam noticed about Hanael was that he looked young, younger than any of the other angels they'd met. Of course, that might just have been his vessel, but there was something youthful in the expression on his face and the heat of the light in his eyes that led Sam to think that perhaps Hanael _was_ younger than the other angels.

The second thing he noticed was that everything about Hanael was ordered. His vessel wore a suit that was pristine – unlike Castiel's attire -, his hair was neatly parted, and he looked clean and relatively unruffled. The line of his jaw was proud, and yet there was something desperately eager to please in his face that made it impossible for Sam to dislike him.

'You shouldn't have called me here, Castiel,' Hanael said uncomfortably. 'You know there is a bounty on your head. Zachariah would give anything to find the Winchesters.'

'I realize that,' Castiel replied. 'But we need your help, Hanael.'

Hanael paused, seeming to struggle with himself for a moment. 'I can't, Castiel, I'm sorry,' he said finally, and there was real regret in his voice. 'You know that I can't just throw away my career – my life – to help you in your search for our father.'

Dean drew in his breath sharply – this was almost exactly what Sam had said to him, all those years ago, when he had turned up on Sam's doorstep saying that John Winchester was on a hunting trip and hadn't been back in a few days. It was a painful reminder of all that Sam might've had if Dean hadn't turned up and wrecked his apple-pie life.

He pushed that thought away. This was not the time or the place to dwell on the past - if he didn't have his wits about him, he might very well not have a future.

'I understand,' replied Castiel. 'But that is not what we need your help with. We… We have reason to believe that Lucifer will attempt to return Dean's soul to Hell. I need to know – does such a ritual exist?'

Hanael licked his lips. 'How did you find out about this?'

'You already knew about this?' said Sam, shocked. 'Why aren't you doing anything?'

'We're doing all we can,' he said defensively. 'It's very difficult to meet all our deadlines at a time like this.' He sounded just like Castiel had done at the beginning – towing the company line, unable to think for himself. Sam marveled at how far Cas had come since then.

'But it's true, then?' cut in Dean. 'Lucifer's got a way to drag my ass back to Hell?'

'There's a ritual, yes, but it's… It's complicated, and insanely difficult.'

'Why?' asked Castiel.

Hanael shook his head. 'I can't…'

When Castiel spoke, it was in a low voice: 'Please, brother.'

Dean watched the exchange between the two angels with interest. He'd never thought of Castiel's family as actually being… well, his family. They'd always just seemed like dicks to him – dicks who treated Castiel like either a feeling-less soldier or a mild annoyance. The idea that Castiel actually thought of any of them as family had never crossed his mind. Dean rubbed a hand across his chin, wondering what else he didn't know about the angel who had saved his life.

Hanael struggled with himself. And then, suddenly, angrily, he burst out: 'Why did you choose this, Castiel? Why did you choose to cut yourself off like this, make yourself into my enemy? Because you're not my enemy... What are these humans to you, that you would choose them over your own family? I spent my entire _life_ trying to be like you, and now...' He stopped, drawing in a deep, calming breath. 'Lucifer will perform the ritual at the new moon - next week. To do this, he needs several things that I won't bore you with, but they're all extremely rare and I don't think Lucifer will have much trouble getting his hands on them. He also needs some of your blood, Dean-'

'Well there's a surprise,' he muttered.

'And your grace, Castiel.'

All eyes turned to the angel in the trenchcoat who stood leaning against the desk.

'What?' said Dean finally. 'Castiel's grace? Cas, did you know about this?'

Castiel shifted awkwardly. 'I might have suspected it.'

'Well, isn't that just peachy,' Dean growled. 'Is there anything else you 'might suspect' that could turn out to be handy, Cas?'

'Not at present.'

'It makes sense, though,' Sam said.

'Course it does,' replied Bobby. 'Castiel just happens to be the one who got Dean out of Hell in the first place, whose handprint just happens to be burnt onto Dean's shoulder. Considering Lucifer's having a garden party were Dean popped up, needing Castiel's grace is the logical next step.'

'I'm sorry, Castiel,' cut in Hanael, 'but that is really all I can do.'

'I did not expect more. Thank you.'

Hanael seemed to hover on the edge of saying something else, but them he decided better of it and disappeared with a faint beating of wings.


	8. Homesickness

So the plan was to stock up Bobby's panic room and stay on hold to bolt in there if anything happened. And it was about the most shit plan Dean had ever heard, but even he had to admit that he couldn't think of a better one besides 'let the bitches come', which was basically the same as saying 'why don't we all just shoot ourselves now'. And while Dean was up for going out with a bang, the others deserved better. Bobby had already given enough, Cas was downright pathetic right now, and Sam…

So Sam had started all this. But if you really wanted to point fingers, you'd better point them at him, Dean Winchester, for dragging Sam out from hiding when he'd escaped, broken free, become normal and happy.

Yeah. Sam deserved better. Dean had taken better away from him, so he sure as hell wasn't going to take anything else from his little brother. Not now.

He dumped the last of the salt bullets in the panic room and straightened up, surveying it. There was enough food to survive a month-long siege, enough ammo to sink the Titanic, enough holy oil to deep-fry an entire garrison of winged dicks, and a lot of whiskey. If anything happened, they'd be just fine. He could only hope it wouldn't come to that.

Sighing, he turned and walked back upstairs to the library, where Bobby and Sam were doing heaps of research while Castiel was staring blankly at a book, obviously about as much use as a cucumber.

'You guys found anything remotely helpful?' Dean asked, practically throwing himself into a chair with a sigh.

Bobby looked up from his book with raised eyebrows.

Dean spread his hands wide in a placating gesture. 'Sorry. Touchy.'

Sam rubbed his forehead, a headache coming on. He'd been in the same position for hours, just reading through Bobby's extensive library for anything that might help them, and found absolutely squat. 'Still nothing here,' he said, putting yet another book on his 'no earthly use to beast nor man' pile.

'Are you sure you don't know anything, Cas?' Dean turned to the angel, who seemed deep in thought. 'Hey. Cas. You still with us?'

Castiel gave himself a mental shake. 'I apologise, Dean. What is it you want?'

'So you've decided to come back to us, how good of you. Did you have a nice time while you were away?'

To everyone's surprise, Castiel stood up abruptly and left the room.

'Dude, what was that?' said Sam to his brother in the stunned silence that followed Castiel's exit.

'What? He's just been staring into space for the last, what, half an hour?'

Sam gave Dean a look that said exactly what he thought of him. 'Go and apologize.'

'What? No!' Dean laughed. 'Don't be ridiculous. He'll get over it.'

-/-

Dean found Castiel outside in the growing dark, sitting on the bonnet of a car and staring up into the sky in a very angelic manner. He coughed as he approached, to give Cas fair warning, but the angel simply ignored him, and so Dean settled for leaning awkwardly against the side of the car.

There was a long pause as Dean tried to decide what the hell he was going to say.

'When I was small, I used to look up at the sky and try to imagine my father,' Castiel said finally. 'Of course, that was when I had absolute faith in Him. When I believed he cared about his children.' Castiel shook his head. 'Things were so much easier before I started questioning everything. Before I met you.' He looked up at Dean, and there was that look of weariness and disappointment in his face that Dean had seen there before, just once, when Joshua had told them that God wasn't interested.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Look, Cas…'

'Hanael looked up to me, Dean. He looked up to me. He was like Sam, I suppose. He is the angel of ambition, I always knew he would rise further than me. But I always felt like I should be there for him. To protect him, show him how to survive. Like my older brothers did for me.'

Dean didn't know what to say, so he settled for saying nothing. Instead, he ran a hand over his face, feeling selfish and ashamed. The fact that he'd never once considered the possibility that Castiel actually had a life beyond him and Sam and stopping the apocalypse, the possibility of Castiel actually having relationships with his brothers, showed just how wrapped-up in his own life Dean had become.

'When I decided to help you and Sam,' Castiel continued, not looking at Dean, 'I knew that I was throwing away everything I had. Thousands of years of existence, and it all came down to one decision.' He sighed, and Dean realised that he had never heard Castiel say so much or sound so lost. 'I don't regret what I did. I still stand by the decision I made. But… It certainly made everything more complicated.'

He wanted to say something, but his mouth felt dry and no words came. 'Hey, Cas,' he said finally. 'We'll make it through this. Y'know, me and Sam, we've been in deeper shit. We'll make it through this. We always do.'

Castiel turned and looked at the hunter, his face open and childlike. 'I miss my family, Dean,' he said quietly.

'I know,' Dean found himself saying. 'I miss my dad, my mom, every day. Hell, even Sam's not the same as he used to be. But we'll get through this, and we'll get through it together. I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, but… We can do this, Cas. We'll show those sons of bitches.'

'I know,' said Castiel, turning back to the stars. 'I know we will. But at what cost?'

And Dean didn't have an answer for him. So they sat outside in silence, watching the stars in the sky, the angel and the hunter, each lost in their own thoughts, until it was time to go back inside.

They spent an uneasy night in Bobby's house, Dean only agreeing to sleep because Castiel promised to keep the nightmares away again and also because he promised that he would alert them if anything happened, as he didn't need to sleep.

It felt strange for Dean to have two virtually uninterrupted nights of sleep in a row, and he came downstairs again in the morning feeling comfortably drowsy, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good, because it was a rare feeling that reminded him of the good days, back when he was just a normal kid from a normal family and didn't have to worry about any of this shit. Bad, because it meant that he wasn't completely alert, not like he usually was.

And so it took him a moment to register when he walked into the library and found an angel there who wasn't Cas.

Luckily, it was Haneal, or that momentary hesitation could have cost him his life.

'Dean Winchester.' The angel said his name abruptly, and Dean couldn't help remembering Hanael's outburst yesterday, when he implied that Dean had taken Castiel away from his family. Dean could see the angel's point, but it still didn't make him overly inclined to be friendly.

'What the hell are you doing here?' he said.

Hanael licked his lips nervously. 'I came to see Castiel.'

'Why? You said yourself you couldn't help him, right after you gave him the whole 'we're brothers' speech. Huh. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not really getting the, y'know, helpful brother vibe from you right now.'

The angel glared at him. 'You honestly have no idea what is going on, have you?'

That surprised Dean. 'Course I do,' he said, like that was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world.

Hanael shook his head. 'No, you don't. I can't help Castiel because if I do we will all be killed.'

Dean remembered what Castiel had said to him, back in the white and golden room with the burgers, when Dean had first asked Castiel to rebel for him. It had never felt like a painful memory before, but now, after his conversation with the angel last night, it did.

'What, so you're a coward, is that it?'

Hanael was standing in front of Dean in a second, his face thunderous, a reminder that this was no human Dean was dealing with, but a hurricane in human form, a meteor, a celestial force, a power far greater than anything Dean could handle by himself. It would take but a thought from Hanael to crush Dean in this instant. And he wasn't even armed right now. Shit.

'Never presume to judge me,' Hanael hissed. 'You know nothing of Heaven, nothing of the terrors it can hold. If you did, you would never have asked me or Castiel to help you. You would know that the price for such disobedience is too great.'

'Spare me the talk,' Dean replied defiantly. 'Why did you come here?'

Hanael's eyes scrutinized Dean's face, flicking backwards and forwards, trying to gauge the hunter's resolve. Dean felt uncomfortable under their gaze but held his ground. It felt strangely like when Castiel was staring at him, except that was uncomfortable only because of the bright hue of Castiel's eyes and because he hardly ever blinked. This felt uncomfortable because Hanael was judging him, something Castiel never seemed to do. And Dean did enough judging of himself without anyone else doing it too, thank you very much.

'He came to warn me.'

Dean whirled around to see Castiel standing in the doorway, looking perfectly calm except for a small spike of emotion in his eyes. It was a strange mix of concern for Dean and some indescribable emotion for Hanael, a confusion of hope and nostalgia and betrayal.

'Warn you? Why? Dammit, what the hell's going on?'

'He has found you, Castiel,' Hanael said.

'Great, more angelic cryptic-ness.' Dean threw up his hands. 'Is anyone going to actually tell me anything, or do I have to guess?' He looked between the two angels, who seemed to be communicating simply by staring at each other. Whether this was some celestial telepathy or just a particularly long meeting of eyes, Dean would never know, because at that moment the two angels disappeared with a flutter of wings.

'Son of a bitch,' he growled. 'What, are you allergic to straight answers?'

-/-

'So they just took off, huh?' Bobby said, one eyebrow raised.

'Didn't Cas say anything?' Sam asked incredulously. 'Surely he wouldn't just _leave_?'

Dean spread his hands wide. 'Search me. I mean, hey, it's not exactly the first time they've moved their feathery asses right at the important part.'

'Have you tried calling him?' Sam suggested.

Dean had. Several times. The angels had only been gone an hour, most of which he'd spent swearing because every time he thought about them he felt more irritated about their bad timing.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Voicemail, every time.'

'Balls.' That was Bobby.

'Well, what do we do?' Dean asked them.

Sam shrugged. 'I don't know, man. I mean, what _can _we do? Cas has gone off somewhere, we don't know where, and we're no match for angels anyway.'

'So, what, we just sit around and wait for him to turn up? And hope that, when he does, he doesn't have too many holes in him?'

Sam shrugged again. 'I don't like it any more than you do. But I don't think we really have much of a choice with this one.'

Dean swore. He hated it when Sam was right. Especially when it meant that, yet again, one of his friends was in danger and he could do absolutely jack.

This was fast becoming a habit of his. And he didn't like it.


	9. Two Angels Walk Into a Warehouse

**A/N:** Sorry this has been a while in coming - I got caught up in finishing my other story, Dancing on the Edges of Reality, and then there was episode 7x17 (*hyperventilates*) and yeah. I also sort of have a life, which gets in the way of fic-writing no end and is generally irritating.

7x17 was awesome. It was also horrendous, but only the end, and in a sort-of good-horrendous way. I just wish Dean wouldn't just keep on leaving Cas behind! After all he's done! But there were some amazing moments, and some wonderful people on tumblr keep making wonderful parallels between this episode and 5x04 'The End' and yeah. I get way too excited over this TV show.

Anyway. Back to the story!

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><p>Castiel hadn't expected Hanael to reappear alone – if the angel did return, it was far more likely that Zachariah would send more angels to outnumber them, or possibly even come himself. So when Castiel saw that Hanael was alone, he wondered if possibly he had misjudged his brother. After all, he had taken a great risk in simply speaking to Castiel, let alone actually giving him any helpful information.<p>

Hanael wouldn't rebel to help Castiel, of that he was certain. Hanael was too ambitious, too much of a good soldier for that. But then, so had Castiel been, before he met Dean. But Castiel had always been naturally inquisitive, perhaps more so than some of his other siblings, although he had never been so rebellious as angels like Anna or Balthazar. And yet, somehow Dean had been able to change Castiel's view of… everything. He had taken the doubts Castiel had already had and turned them into something he could use: free will.

When Hanael had left, Castiel had been disappointed that he was, yet again, alone, but part of him at least had been relieved, pleased even, if not for his own sake then for Hanael's. What Castiel had done… betraying his family, turning against them, disobeying orders, fighting his own siblings in a show of rebellion practically unprecedented since the Fall of Lucifer himself… While he still believed his decision to have been right and just, the fate he now suffered was not one he would wish upon Hanael. He felt more at home, more welcome with the Winchesters than he ever had done with his own family, but he was far more alone than he had ever been, and he knew that it would only get worse. He was Falling, one day he would be human, and even if, by some miracle, he managed to retain his immortality, one day the Winchesters would be gone – one day soon, if they continued to behave in their usual way – and he would truly be alone.

And so when Hanael reappeared in Bobby's library, Castiel received his brother with mixed feelings. But when Hanael looked at him with a mixture of a plea and an apology on his face, Castiel knew he had no choice but to do as his brother asked and go with him. Zachariah had found him, as he had known he would, and Hanael had come to give him a chance. He had to use that.

And much as he disliked leaving the others – especially Dean – with no explanation, it was for the best.

Hanael took him to a large, abandoned warehouse (it seemed that all angels conducted their business inside disused storage facilities these days). A few large metal poles and concrete pillars supported the infrastructure of the building, but apart from that it was completely empty. The roof was partly decayed and bright sunlight spilled through the gaps, reflecting off the water that pooled on the uneven concrete floor and creating quite a white glare that almost blinded Castiel at some angles. When he was still 'juiced up on angel mojo,' as he suspected Dean would put it, this would not have bothered him in the slightest, but now, practically reduced to humanity and with no squint reflexes, he found it unnerving.

He may not have been much of an angel, but he still observed all this in under a second, before snapping his focus back to Hanael. His brother turned to him, discomfort on his face, before saying, slowly and carefully: 'I'm not helping you, Castiel.'

Castiel swallowed. 'I understand. I didn't expect that of you. But then why have you brought me here?'

Angels do not fidget, not even when in a vessel – they partake in no actions so human as that – but they do feel discomfort, and Castiel could sense it on his brother now.

'I am sorry,' Hanael said, and his voice was flat, and Castiel had fought enough of his siblings to know the sound of betrayal when he heard it. And he had heard it a great many times, but still it felt like a blade being driven into his heart, and he almost grimaced at the blinding flash of pain it caused him.

All angels followed orders, of course, and he should have known that Hanael would be no different. But he hadn't expected it, possibly because he still saw Hanael as the little brother who followed him around, wanting to be like him – the little brother Castiel would have protected with his life if it had come to that, and not because of any orders or chain of command, but because he, Castiel, the angel of Thursday, wanted to.

'I would prefer not to have to do this.' Hanael was looking directly at him, his eyes dull and hopeless. A movement drew Castiel's gaze and he saw an angel blade appearing in Hanael's hand. Self-defence dictated that he should draw his own, but – cross blades with Hanael? He would rather tear his own wings out.

It occurred to him that he might have to.

'Don't make me fight you.' There was a pleading note to his voice that he hated, but he had no choice. His pride could take the blow. 'I do not want to hurt you, Hanael, but I _will_ protect the Winchesters.'

Hanael glanced away then, pain raw in his eyes, and even as Castiel recognized the conflict in his face, it broke his heart. It was the same conflict that he himself had gone through when Dean first asked him to rebel, the conflict he still went through every time he had to fight one of his siblings.

'I truly wish it had not come to this. I wish you had not made me do this…' He looked back up to Castiel, their eyes meeting across the empty space between them, the void. 'Zachariah has gone to find the Winchesters. He will come after you, too, Castiel…' He took a deep breath, steadying himself. 'My orders are to kill you.'

He had known it was coming, but it still felt like a blow that internally knocked him off balance. Outside, however, he simply nodded his head tersely. 'I suspected as much.'

'I will not disobey my orders, Castiel.' Hanael spoke like one with a mouth full of broken glass – slowly and carefully, placing emphasis on every word and articulating with the utmost precision. 'But, should you win, I would recommend that you return to the Winchesters and hope that it is not too late.'

Castiel squared his jaw. 'What is Zachariah planning, Hanael?'

The sincerity in his brother's eyes surprised Castiel as Hanael spoke: 'I cannot tell you because I do not know. But it is related to Lucifer's plans for the Righteous Man. You must not let Lucifer succeed, but Zachariah's plans, in turn, are… less than ideal. They require your death.'

'I understand.' He swallowed painfully at the thought of what he was about to do. 'Must we fight?'

Hanael's expression hardened to one of resolve. 'We have no choice. I am sorry.'

There was a sudden displacement of air behind him and Castiel whirled around, summoning his own angel blade as his did so, and Hanael came at him with a near blow to the stomach that Castiel only just managed to parry in time. Hanael attacked again, coming higher this time, and Castiel twisted away, ducking to avoid the blow and moving agilely out of range as he did so.

Hanael was a skilled swordsman, but he wasn't used to fighting in a vessel, not like Castiel was. To Castiel, James Novak's body was all but his own, the previous owner having vacated it the first time Castiel was killed. Castiel knew this body, was comfortable under its skin, and although it wasn't his true form, he had become used to it in the short time that he had been acquainted with it. Hanael, however, couldn't have been wearing his vessel for very long at all, and this unfamiliarity might just be enough to tip the scales in Castiel's favor. It wasn't much, but perhaps it could be enough.

He was wrenched from his thoughts when he received a light blow to the shoulder, Hanael's blade cutting through clothes and flesh, making the essence beneath it shine out, singing in pain. Castiel gritted his teeth against the sudden flare of discomfort and channelled his thoughts back into fighting Hanael.

The blows came thick and fast then, and sometimes Castiel was on the offensive, and others it was Hanael. Each of their brows furrowed in concentration as they slashed and stabbed and parried and twirled in a weird parody of some exotic ballroom dance. Anyone watching would have found it difficult to tell who had the upper hand at any given point in the fight, but then Hanael began landing heavy blows on Castiel, who only just managed to block them, backing further away with each parry, his counter-attacks predictable and easily deflected.

And then Castiel felt the hardness of a pillar behind his back and knew that it was extremely likely that he was about to die. Again.

He tried to escape his predicament by ducking away from his opponent but Hanael caught his side with the tip of his sword, and Castiel lost his balance slightly, cracking his head painfully against the pillar behind him and leaning drunkenly against it for support, chest heaving.

Hanael attacked again, and Castiel's arm came up to block it, even though he knew he had very little chance. Reaching inside himself, he felt for his grace, but simply travelling here had taken much out of it, and the injuries he had sustained subsequently had certainly done it no good.

And then, suddenly, inexplicably, something flickered in Hanael's eyes, confusion, distraction, and Castiel seized his chance. He moved forwards, knocking the blade from his brother's hand, and took hold of Hanael's shoulders, spinning him around and forcing him back against the pillar where Castiel himself had been cornered only moments before.

It took a Herculanean effort to raise his sword to his brother's throat.

They were both panting now, their eyes level with each other, and Castiel saw the fear on Hanael's face, and yet the peace that came from knowing he had done his duty to the last moment.

It made him so very sad.

Castiel had killed many of his siblings in his fight for free will, but even as he pressed his blade into the flesh of Hanael's vessel, he knew he could never kill this brother, not if his own life depended on it, and especially not if it didn't.

He would protect Dean Winchester at all costs. All but this one. Free will dictated that he didn't have to follow orders, that he could decide for himself, and, well. This was his first decision.

'I'm not going to kill you, Hanael,' he said quietly, stepping back and sending his blade away. 'I am sorry I dragged you into this.'

And, reaching deep within himself to find what little reserves of grace he still had, he left in a wingbeat.

The Winchesters needed him.

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><p><strong>AN: **Excitement!

More about Castiel's feelings in this chapter, so I apologise if it gets a tad repetitive. I just get really into writing Castiel stuff, y'know, and then I can't bring myself to cut too much of it... I also want to apologise for the state of the fight sequence in this chapter. Believe it or not, I'm usually pretty good at writing action and fights and stuff, but for some reason I found this one really difficult to do. And I'm still not happy with it. Urgh.

Anyway. I hope you liked it. Please leave me a review to tell me what you think!

Thanks for reading!


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